Invasion: California

-11- Drive on Los Angeles

In an emergency session of the War Council, Anna sat down beside Dr. Levin. The CIA Director glanced at her and then ignored her presence.

Since the nuclear attack in Santa Cruz, the atmosphere in Underground Bunker Number Five had turned more unrelentingly grim. The success of the assault should have lightened their hearts, but it hadn’t.

We can feel the evil of what we’ve done. We have unleashed the terrible genie, and now we wait for him to turn on us. The Chinese will use nuclear weapons soon. They have refrained from it too long to resist the urge this time.

The President entered the chamber looking more worn than ever. The past few days had aged him. The good news warred against the bad, and everything hung on a knife’s edge as the Chinese battled through the San Gorgonio Pass between the San Bernardino Mountains on the north and the San Jacinto Mountains on the south. If they broke through, they would be in Greater San Bernardino. Given their past actions, the Chinese might be tempted to race to Corona and block the soldiers escaping out of the Escondido Pocket through Temecula.

That was the chief worry and the reason for the meeting. Yet in the northern half of California, the Chinese assault continued despite staggering losses to the nuclear-tipped cruise missiles. The enemy was on the verge of breaking through into the Bay Area.

They had spoken about the Bay Area last meeting. The consensus in the White House bunker was that after the Tomahawk attack, the Chinese had too few naval infantry left to carry the day in San Francisco and San Jose. What the enemy did have was air superiority and the ability to shift his few troops like a chess master.

On the American side, reinforcements kept trickling in, enough so a form of stalemate had occurred. The trouble was that those soldiers were a drain. SoCal Command desperately needed every grunt it could get to hold the coming battle for LA.

“General Alan,” the President said. “It’s time for a new assessment of the situation in Greater Los Angeles.”

The General of the Joint Chiefs stood up. The strain showed in his cheeks, how lean they had become. He looked as if he’d been fasting for a week, his motions now lethargic and his face lacking its natural animation.

“Mr. President, the situation has become fluid and threatens to become even worse. The first soldiers from the Escondido Pocket have reached Temecula. According to estimates, there are nearly one hundred and eighty-four thousand Americans in or around Escondido and Poway.”

“So few?” Sims asked. “I had hoped for more.”

“Well, sir—”

“Army Group SoCal originally contained six hundred thousand soldiers.”

“Yes sir, but if you’ll consider—”

“Are you telling me that we’re attempting to free one hundred and eighty thousand Americans out of an original six hundred thousand?”

“The Chinese have sustained heavy losses as well, sir,” General Alan said. “We believe they may have nearly one million casualties. That’s dead and wounded, sir.”

President Sims snorted. “Those estimates sound much too high to me. If you say one million, I doubt it’s even five hundred thousand.” He scowled. “It’s impossible we’ve lost so men in so short a time.”

“I assure you our estimates on the enemy are accurate, sir.”

“I’m not worried about the enemy, but about us! How can we have lost so many soldiers?”

“Ah…there are several ways to look at this, sir. In World War I, in 1916, the British once took 60,000 casualties in one day of the Battle of Somme, 20,000 of whom were killed. I remember reading that sixty percent of the officers involved died on the first day. We haven’t lost that many soldiers in a single day’s fighting, Mr. President. But—”

“I’m not interested in World War I,” Sims said, as he waved his hand as if to erase the words. “How is it possible we have so few troops left?”

“They’re trapped, sir. As you know, the Chinese have surrounded masses of our troops all over southern California. And we have taken appalling losses. Modern war is brutal.”

“Yes, but one hundred and eighty thousand soldiers out of the original six hundred thousand—I thought we were going to rescue more of our men.”

“By my estimates, sir, there are another two hundred thousand Americans in five different pockets.”

“Can we reach them from Escondido?” Sims asked.

Anna blinked in surprise. What was she hearing from the President? He used to be a commanding general. He should know these things. He should be giving orders, not asking questions of General Alan. How much sleep had the President been getting? He looked exhausted. She wondered about his mental health.

“Sir,” Alan said, “I’m afraid we might not get the one hundred and eighty thousand into LA. That’s why we’ve called the meeting.”

“…Yes,” Sims said, rubbing his temples. “That’s right. Please, continue, General.”

“Thank you, sir. Well, we’ve finally discovered one of the secrets to their continuous assaults. Before I tell you about that I want to reiterate that the Chinese switch formations constantly. They retire the fatigued formation and bring up another to continue the attack. It’s true that other armies have done this in the past. The Chinese appear to have made it an art. They are well trained in this particular maneuver.”

From an aide, Sims accepted a pill and a glass of water. He popped the pill and drank. Then he returned his attention to the General of the Joint Chiefs.

“The Chinese have been ruthless in their use of penal battalions,” Alan was saying, “accepting staggering casualties. I stand by the nearly one million enemy casualties, sir. Our soldiers have fought heroically. In any case, the Chinese also have these special infantry. That is the new thing we’ve learned, sir: the feature that makes the formations so special.” The General glanced at Anna. “Surprisingly, the CIA discovered their specialty, as it were.” Alan nodded to her.

“With your permission,” Anna said to Levin.

“You do not need his permission to speak here,” Sims said. “You already have mine.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Anna said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Levin scowl. But she couldn’t worry about that now. She cleared her throat and concentrated on Sims. “There were certain features about the special infantry that have troubled me for some time now. I checked the records and—”

“Summarize the information please, Ms. Chen,” Sims said.

“Yes sir. It appears the Chinese created the special infantry formations with the idea of accepting fifty to sixty percent casualty rates as a matter of course. Perhaps they studied General Alan’s Battle of the Somme.”

No one smiled.

“Ah…” Anna said, “I believe the Chinese have studied the problem of modern war in detail. I’m speaking about the lethality of it. They appear to have come to certain conclusions quite different to anything we would have decided. I mean, of course, the acceptance of mind-numbing losses.

“Now, as few soldiers would care to join such an organization or perform with any zeal in it, the Chinese refined the needed motivations. Normally, to stir their soldiers, militaries make appeals to glory, to patriotism or to duty in order to energize regular fighters. On the other hand, we believe the special infantry respond to post-hypnotic suggestions and drugs. The process appears to have created a suitably compliant soldier—a zombie if you will—more than willing to expend his life in pursuit of the attack.”

“What you’re saying—that’s evil,” Sims said.

“And grossly wasteful of lives,” General Alan added.

“Nevertheless,” Anna said, “the special infantry exists and we have the evidence of their actions. The Chinese have used them to break stubborn resistance and to do it fast. There seems to be an emphasis on speed in this campaign. I have complied data of special infantry use in other conflicts…” Anna saw the President scowl. “Umm…well sir, let me distill the reports to this: the special infantry has never exceeded two percent of any Chinese army in any situation until now.”

“You’re saying there is a different percentage in Southern California?”

“Yes, Mr. President. It appears to fluctuate between four to seven percent. We believe more special infantry lands from China every day. Naturally, such formations do not last long.”

“And you’re telling me that this is what happened in Palm Springs?” Sims asked.

Anna glanced at General Alan.

The slim general motioned to his aide, the major. She switched on the holo-video in the center of the table and began to explain what they viewed.

It began as a classic attack with heavy artillery fire and then T-66s on overwatch as they advanced in three-tank platoons toward the outskirts of Palm Springs. From above, Chinese UCAVs bored toward the city. American tac-lasers beamed, taking down a dreadful number, while SAMs rose to engage the aircraft. Then air-to-ground missiles fired from Chinese standoff bombers arrived. It was like many of the other battles, a furnace of destruction. Finally, the Chinese reached the urban areas.

The major used zoom, showing them Chinese ground assaults. It showed wave after wave of special infantry doggedly charging the entrenched defenders who used heavy machine guns and mortars. Thousands of enemy soldiers died, yet still they advanced, still they attacked. Meanwhile, the T-66s crept into position.

“This is horrifying,” Sims whispered. “It’s a butcher’s yard.”

Now a new tank assault began, sometimes churning over the dead bodies of special infantrymen. The weight of the attack was too much for the outnumbered defenders. The Chinese entered Palm Springs and a savage street-by-street battle for the city began as other T-66s circled the city.

“They just keep coming,” Sims said. “We’re destroying so many. How can the Chinese afford the losses?”

“That is the question,” General Alan said. “We’re killing more of them than they kill of us, but they keep pushing us back. Now the Chinese are halfway through the I-10 corridor of San Gorgonio Pass. We’re fighting every inch of the way and it’s a deathtrap for their tanks. The width of the pass is one to two miles. The Chinese are using heavy air support, massive artillery bombardments and hordes of attacking special infantry. Even so, we’re killing them at five-to-one ratios, sometimes even ten to one, but they always have more hardware, more tanks, aircraft, artillery and bodies.”

“We have to accelerate the retreat along I-15,” Sims said. “We need those soldiers.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“What do you need from me?” Sims asked.

“Sir, I believe that all the California-bound reinforcements must head to Los Angeles. We have to let NorCal Command cope with the situation in the Bay Area as it is. The battle in the southlands is the critical conflict now.”

“And if the Chinese capture the Bay Area?”

“We’re raising new Militia units there even now, sir, just as we’re doing in Greater Los Angeles. In the south, the Chinese have three times, maybe more, the number of soldiers we do. In the Bay Area, I believe we have more men. The Chinese might win local victories there, but I do not believe they can capture the entire Bay Area fast enough to matter, not unless they receive reinforcements.”

“Which the Chinese might very well receive if they capture the ports of San Francisco or Oakland,” Sims said.

“True. We have to decide on priorities, sir, on which situation is more pressing.”

“It will become very pressing if the Chinese land another one hundred thousand soldiers in San Francisco or two hundred thousand.”

“Our submarines are lurking there, sir, in greater number than previously. If needed, we can sacrifice them in order to destroy enemy troopships.”

The President drummed his fingers on the table as he scowled at the holo-vid. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Send all the reinforcements south to Los Angeles. The Chinese are making their play there, so that is where we have to stop them.”

The extended battle in the Californian city had turned it into a mass of rubble as far as the eye could see. Chinese artillery had pulverized Poway for days. Tanks moved like ancient dinosaurs, shoving aside concrete and twisted steel girders. Shaped-charge grenades, armor-piercing mortar rounds and heavy machine gun fire hammered at the armored creatures. Sometimes, pterodactyl-like UCAVs swooped over the grim terrain. Missiles launched from under their wings, burning red and striking with tremendous clouds of smoke. In the end, the dinosaurs always died to the small mammalian creatures that lived like rats in the rubble, popping up to shoot and scoot elsewhere.

Grime and dust coated Paul Kavanagh. He lay on pulverized gravel and concrete. He wore heavy body armor and had several small computers attached to his suit. They had been flown in special delivery. The computers fed him a constant stream of data. He fed higher command with surveillance information. Romo was nearby, crawling ahead to take out a Chinese sentry.

Paul stiffened as he heard a gurgle of sound. A moment later, one of his computers beeped quietly. Staying on his belly like a snake, Paul slithered forward, following a signal. Soon he reached Romo. The assassin lacked any body armor, but wore a camouflage suit. The corpse on the ground still grabbed at the piano-wire-like garrote that had constricted his throat and breathing. Blood trickled past the wire.

Romo motioned south toward the next Chinese position. Paul nodded, and the two of them began to crawl.

The Chinese had hit Poway with everything. Likely that would continue. The special infantry had been here. Those soldiers never stopped until they were dead. Now bloated corpses littered the battlefield so a foul-smelling miasma floated over the rubble.

Paul used his elbows to pull himself forward. He and Romo were part of the rearguard in Poway. They had to keep the Chinese at bay, lest the enemy motor after the escaping soldiers. They kept hearing news of other places, but didn’t care anymore. This rubble moonscape was all that mattered to them.

Paul and Romo had been on this particular mission for a full twenty-four hours. Like moles, like rats, they had moved past many Chinese outposts and concentration points. Now they approached the southern portion of Poway, a place they had escaped days ago—in what seemed like another lifetime.

The Chinese ruled the skies. The Americans in Poway lacked UCAVs, fighters, bombers, anything that flew. Tac-lasers, SAMs and linked tank defense-nets were the only way to halt the Chinese from flying wherever they wanted. Word had come to them that more American air was transferring to SoCal, but that would take time.

Word had also come down that the Americans in Escondido were all out of time. It was escape today or they would never have another chance to do so. The Chinese had made it through San Gorgonio Pass and were pushing into Greater San Bernardino.

“There,” Romo whispered.

Paul crawled beside his blood brother. They were commandos. Thus, this mission had fallen to them.

“Do you see?” Romo whispered.

Paul pulled out special binoculars. They were linked to his computers and they allowed battalion HQ to see what he saw. What he saw just now was an assembly area for more…

“Special infantry,” Paul whispered. He loathed the zombie troopers. It appeared that the Chinese gathered their men for what would likely be another attempt to drive the Americans out of Poway.

“Receiving,” an operator whispered in Paul’s ear through his implant.

“Activating laser,” Paul whispered in his throat microphone. He already held a laser designator and aimed it in the middle of the assembly area.

He didn’t have long to wait. Thirty-four seconds later, the beginning of a highly accurate American mortar bombardment hit the assembly area. Shrapnel exploded and mowed down enemy combatants.

“That’s it,” the operator told Paul through his ear-implant. “The Colonel says he wants you two back at HQ.”

“Negative,” Paul said. “We’re out here now. We might as well stay and feed you more information as it comes.”

“I’m relaying that. Oh.”

“What is it?” Paul asked.

“Ah…the Colonel has been listening to your transmission,” the operator said. “He told me to tell you that you’re not suicide soldiers. You’re Americans. You’re to get back here as quickly as you can. That’s an order.”

Paul and Romo traded glances. They both knew Poway would be their grave. The Chinese simply had too much.

Disengaging his throat microphone, Paul asked, “Well? What do you think? Do we go or stay? As far as I’m concerned, I’m sick of crawling.”

Romo took his time answering. Finally, he said, “It would be a shame to give up now, not after all we’ve been through. Let us return to our line.”

Paul stared at the special infantry groaning on the gory assembly area. A few tried to crawl away. American mortar shells continued to rain death. He wasn’t dead yet, but the rearguard wasn’t going to last forever against the Chinese. He was so tired, just sick of crawling, shooting, watching people die. Yet…he’d never given up before. Was this the place to call it quits? If he did, he would never see his family.

You’re never going to see them away. The Chinese have as good as killed you.

Paul scowled. That sounded like quitter thinking. He’d never been a quitter before, why start now just because things looked bleak. Yeah, he might never see his wife again, but at least he was going to try until the very end.

“What the hell,” he said. “Let’s go back and stick it out until they put a bullet through our brains.”

As he said that, a bitter well of determination rose up. Yeah, he was sick of fighting and he was weary. It just never ended. But he was going to see his wife again and see Mike. If he gave up, some Chinese soldier would rape Cheri and shoot his son.

Not while I’m alive, damnit. “You ready?” he asked Romo.

The assassin looked at him with his dead eyes. There was a flicker in the center of them, something dark and deadly.

“Si,” Romo whispered. He shouldered his assault rifle and began to crawl through the rubble back toward the American lines.

With the others of the Eagle Team, Fighter Rank Zhu huddled around First Rank Tian. The thick-necked First Rank showed them a computer scroll and outlined the plan.

The White Tiger commandos stood outside a Safeway grocery store. Behind them in the street, artillery thundered with each salvo, the shells screaming overhead. They bombarded the Americans in another part of Riverside. T-66s waited in the parking lot, black-uniformed tankers sitting on their monsters, smoking looted American cigarettes.

“The enemy has stiffened here,” the First Rank said, tapping the scroll.

Like the others, Zhu nodded. They no longer referred to him as the rookie. He had become one of them through the blizzard of endless combat. Their flight equipment was piled to the side, waiting for the next mission to begin.

“The Americans believe these buildings will act like bunkers,” Tian explained. “We will show them otherwise.”

In the past, Zhu might have grinned. He’d wanted to show the others he was good enough. He was too tired these days to worry about such a thing. They had made six…no, seven combat drops since the beginning of the campaign. Many of the commandos were dead. In fact, so many had died in the battle through San Gorgonio Pass that three-quarters of their squad were originally members of other squads. The Eagle Teams had paid a bitter price in blood helping to pry open the pass.

“Zhu, are you listening?” Tian asked.

“Yes, First Rank.”

“No more stims for you,” Tian said.

The others chuckled, even though it wasn’t funny. One of the Chinese secrets to continual assaults was good stims that didn’t turn the user silly, at least not until four days of continuous use.

Zhu had been on stims for three days already. They all had. Otherwise, they would have fallen asleep on the spot. Soon now, they would have no choice but to lie down and sleep, or risk using stims and accept the consequences.

“Are there any questions?” Tian asked the group.

Zhu began to scratch his face, letting his nails dig into the skin.

“Fighter Rank!” Tian said.

Zhu dropped his hand, and he discovered that several of his fingernails had become bloody. What was wrong with him?

“How many stims did you take this morning?” Tian asked.

Zhu shook his head. He couldn’t remember.

“Stay close to me, Fighter Rank.” Tian seemed embarrassed saying it.

“Yes, First Rank.” Zhu wondered what would make the First Rank embarrassed. It was strange.

“Gear up,” Tian said. “It is almost time to begin.”

Zhu bandaged his face first. Then he began to don his jetpack and other equipment. It took time. Meanwhile, First Rank Tian inspected each of the commandos.

As Tian slapped Zhu’s jetpack and tested one of the straps on his chest, the First Rank said softly, “You must be more careful, Fighter Rank.”

“First Rank?”

Tian tugged a strap harder than necessary. “Too many died in San Gorgonio Pass. It was a bloodbath.”

“But we won,” Zhu said.

Tian released the strap and scowled at him. “Don’t be a hero, Zhu. That is an order.”

“Have I done something wrong?”

“You skinny fool,” Tian hissed. “I’m sick of seeing my friends die. When you joined us you were so wet behind the ears it was painful. Then you became a real tiger in combat, a White Tiger.” Tian shook his head. “Who would have believed it? The others are dead now but for us two. I won’t die here. My mother read my horoscope before I left China. I will survive, and it will be a sorrow to me. Now I’m beginning to understand what she meant. I do not want you on my conscience, Fighter Rank.”

“Yes, First Rank.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Tian’s face.

“You still don’t understand. You are a fool, Zhu, and you’re skinny and it makes no sense you should survive where the others have died. How have you managed this miracle?”

“I don’t shirk my duty.”

Tian looked away. “No. You have a death wish. Because of that, Yan Luo laughs at you just like the rest of us used to do.”

“That is not true. I do not want to die.”

“No?”

“I want to live, but I want to fight well even more.”

Tian slapped him on the shoulder. “You have believed everything the instructors told you, Fighter Rank. It is a marvel. During this flight, I want you to stay close to me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, First Rank.”

“You are to guard my back. That is an order.”

“Guard you?” Zhu asked.

“I have too much to worry about and oversee during a fight. To have to guard myself every minute of the fight while I’m doing it, no, I’m not a wonder child.”

Zhu stood straighter. “Ah, I understand. Yes, I will guard your back, First Rank.”

“I’m counting on that,” Tian said with a nod. “Now, hurry to your helo. We’re about to lift-off.”

Fourteen minutes later, the air taxis lifted with the Eagle Team members in place on the poles. Behind them, Gunhawks lofted to provide fire support.

Zhu watched entranced. This never failed to awe him. As the rotors turned faster, the ground dropped away and the city soon looked like a toy set. Radio chatter played in his headphones. Artillery opened up and a company of special infantry attacked the American line.

“Proceed to your grid coordinates.”

“Roger,” the air taxi pilot said.

Zhu’s gut lurched as his helo headed back down into the battle. Around him, other helicopters zoomed for the large buildings a block behind the main enemy defenses. The American infantry had found large buildings to fortify. Clearing them in the old-fashioned way took time and blood or it took the buildings’ destruction through artillery or tank fire.

“Now!” Tian said.

Zhu released his handlebars and jumped hard. He activated his jetpack and thrust away from the deadly blades. Then he dropped with his fellow Eagle Team soldiers. The top of a seven-story building rushed up. The tactical plan was simple. Grab several large buildings behind enemy lines: let the Americans know they had been cut off and trapped. First, they were going to have to secure this building.

“Fighter Rank, you’re too far ahead,” Tian said through the headphones. “Slow your descent and wait for me to land.”

“Yes, First Rank.” Zhu applied thrust. As his jetpack hissed, the heavy straps pulled at his shoulders. Others dropped faster now, and they landed on top of the building. Immediately, the commandos shed their jetpacks and raced for the stairwell.

The Army wanted Riverside fast, and using the White Tiger Eagle Teams was one of the secrets to getting it as soon as they wanted it.

Then the roof of the building rushed up, and Zhu touched down. He yanked his straps and the jetpack fell away with a clatter of noise. Grabbing his assault rifle, Zhu checked his impulse to follow the others already pouring down into the building. He must guard the First Rank’s back.

A moment later, a bulky trooper landed beside him. The White Tiger shed his pack and flipped up his visor. It was Tian. He shouted orders into his throat microphone, constantly checked the computer scrolls attached to him and he strode toward the stairwell.

“Cover my back,” he ordered Zhu.

Zhu raced into position, with his assault rifle ready. If the Americans came for Tian, they would first have to get past him. What a great honor the First Rank gave him. Zhu swore a silent oath then that before Tian died, he would die first protecting him.

White Tigers forever! In his mind, Zhu was finally and truly one of China’s greatest elite soldiers. This position of honor from First Rank Tian proved it.

Stan was near the junction of I-15 and I-215. Five of the Behemoths were slated to head up I-215 to Perris and Riverside beyond. According to Colonel Wilson, SoCal Command had decided to split the regiment. They needed something to stop the Chinese advance. The enemy was chewing through Riverside too fast. The Behemoths were to give the Chinese something to think about and would provide anti-air protection for the last-ditch defenders.

“That’s a mistake, sir,” Stan said over the radio to Wilson. Each of them waited in their carrier-cab. Stan’s tank had engine trouble again. Because of that, his tank would soon begin the slow journey to Corona.

“It’s out of my hands,” Wilson told him.

Stan studied his netbook. “Our Behemoths operate better when used all together like a closed fist. You need to explain that to General Larson, sir. We can’t allow the Chinese to nibble one of our greatest tactical assets away, namely, these super-tanks.”

“This is war, Captain. Sometimes there are no good choices.”

Stan almost replied to that. Then he thought more carefully. Wilson was right and it showed him the Colonel had changed. Wilson wasn’t Mr. Martinet anymore. Battle had transformed his outlook to something more rational.

“Yes sir, you’re right,” Stan told him. “It’s just…”

“I don’t like the order, either. I’m not sure we’ll see those men again in this world.”

Stan swallowed hard. He’d been training with the Behemoth crews for some time. What an awful thing. The others had kept their tanks running and because of that, the Army had likely signed those men’s death warrants by sending them against the Chinese in Riverside.

“We’re leaving,” Jose said, climbing into the cab. The cushions compressed beneath his weight, making crinkling noises.

Soon, Stan heard the carrier’s engine rumble. With a lurch, they began the slow, fifteen mph crawl for Corona. Beside them on the highway, Americans marched and others rode bicycles. The Chinese were coming, and SoCal Command was rushing this remnant of Army Group SoCal to Los Angeles.

Good luck, Stan thought toward the handful of Behemoths off to engage the Chinese Tank Army.

“Who’s going to lead them, sir?”

“I am,” Wilson said.

Stan sat blinking in the cab. “You, sir, you’re leading the charge?”

“My tank is still in top running condition. It has always been the best-maintained Behemoth in the regiment.”

“But sir…”

“By the way, Higgins, I spoke to General Larson. On my recommendation, he has promoted you to major. Major Higgins, you have command of the regiment until I return. I want you to keep those tanks alive and I want you to stop the Chinese from taking our cities away.”

“Sir…I…”

“You know more about tank combat than the rest of us, Major. You take care of the regiment.”

“Yes sir. I will. I…wish you Godspeed, sir. You’d better come back to us.”

There was a raspy laugh. “You’re a good man, Major. I respect you.”

“I respect you as well, sir.”

“Thank you, Major. I know in the past I may have been a—”

“Please, Colonel. You can tell me when you get back.”

“Uh…yes, I suppose those sorts of things are best said face-to-face, aren’t they?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“Good-bye, Major.”

“Good-bye, Colonel Wilson. Give them hell.”

Jian Hong stood outside the main, open-air polar bear cage of his extended zoo. It consisted of a giant pit, with rocks and a pool. A large concrete ditch fronted that and up here was the iron rail where Jian rested his hands.

The large mother bear swam in the water of the pool with her two cubs. They looked like giant swimming dogs.

“The breeders say she is my best mother,” Jian told the Police Minster.

Xiao Yang, the Police Minister, was lean and wore a black uniform. He wore thick glasses and possessed strangely staring eyes. With his hands behind his back, he craned his neck, as if it was impossible for him to see the bears otherwise.

Jian tightened his grip on the black-painted rail. He sighed before glancing around. Tall Lion Guardsmen stood by the baboon enclosure. Since the last assassination attempt, he had doubled the number of his security personnel. It always comforted him seeing them.

“Why are you here, old friend?” Jian asked quietly. “I know you do not care for animals.”

“You have excellent polar bears, Leader.”

“Please,” Jian said. “You do not need to pretend.” He smiled as he said it. Xiao didn’t need to pretend, but if the Minister of Police feared Jian, that showed he wielded true power. The fact of Xiao’s fawning made him feel good. It still surprised Jian how far and how fast he had climbed. It was because he had dared to strike at precisely the right moment.

“Despite my lack of understanding concerning your pets,” Xiao said, “the bears still seem healthy to me. It is my policy to attempt to see a situation as it is, not as others would have me believe it to be.”

“You are being cryptic, old friend. There is no need for that between the two of us.”

The Police Minister’s tongue appeared as it wetted his lips. They were always wet looking, his lips. It was rather repugnant now that Jian thought of it. The man was repugnant, but he had his uses and he ran the police with an iron hand. Fortunately, the man was transparent, at least to someone with Jian’s perceptiveness. It meant Jian could trust Xiao, at least to a point.

After Foreign Minister Deng, Xiao was the most dangerous man in China, making him the third most deadly. Clearly, as Leader, Jian knew himself to be more dangerous than any of the others. Hadn’t he risen to the very top? “Risen” was perhaps the wrong word. He had climbed over the dead and grasping to reach the pinnacle of power on Earth.

Jian would do anything he needed in order to keep power. That included shooting old friends if the time ever came.

For a while, Jian watched the polar bears. At last, he turned to the patiently waiting Xiao. The man had no time or instinct for appreciating such beautiful animals as these. It showed that he lacked spirituality. Xiao’s patience, however, was another sign of Jian’s power. It also showed him that the Police Minister truly was dangerous. Patience was a priceless gift if wielded skillfully.

“Would you like one of the cubs?” Jian asked.

Xiao bowed at the waist. “You honor me, Leader. I would be delighted.”

Jian laughed. “You do not want a polar bear cub.”

“Even so, Leader, I would gladly accept one.”

“And if it died from inattention and a lack of love?”

“I would execute the zookeeper who would have failed me,” Xiao said.

“Hmm,” Jian said. “Tell me, why are you here today? Does it concern California?”

“Yes Leader.”

“Are you going to tell me that the others on the Ruling Committee are worried about the mounting casualties?”

“Yes Leader.”

“Ah, I see. Then you may now consider me told.”

“Leader…if you would allow me to speak further on the matter…I would greatly appreciate it.”

Jian watched the mother bear climb out of the pool and shake herself like a dog. “Very well,” he said, “what is your warning?”

“I have inspected the numbers, Leader.”

“Do you mean the casualty lists?”

“Yes Leader.”

“They are exorbitant. Is that what you want to say?”

“I believe Deng and his clique expected heavy losses,” Xiao said. “I think they also expected a larger area of conquest in exchange for the blood of Chinese soldiery.”

“I have spoken to Marshal Nung. He has assured me that the heavy losses will bring us exceptional victory. We must have patience in order to realize complete victory.”

“I understand that you support Marshal Nung, Leader, but…”

Jian released the rail and tore his gaze from his beloved polar bears. He studied Xiao. The Police Minister looked at him as a giant goldfish might. The thick glasses were like peering through an aquarium.

“But what, Police Minister?” Jian asked in a silky voice.

Xiao hesitated before saying, “Leader, it appears as if the assaults have bogged down.”

“This is your assessment?”

“No Leader. Marshal Kao told me—”

Jian raised his right hand, halting Xiao’s words. “Let me explain something to do you. Marshal Kao despises Marshal Nung.”

“I am aware of that.”

“I will tell you something more. There is no one in China like Marshal Nung. He hastens to the attack while others careful weigh options. He takes an army and grinds the enemy down with it, destroying them so he can achieve victory.”

“He is chewing through his own army as well, Leader.”

“I grant you that,” Jian said. “Yes, he is not afraid to spill blood. Even so, we have far more soldiers and more equipment than the Americans do. Nung has nearly obliterated an entire American Army Group in some of the toughest defensive terrain in the country. What is more, he is on the verge of smashing through Los Angeles. Once he breaks through into Bakersfield, I believe he will give us the entire state and perhaps the whole West Coast. It will be a bitter and devastating blow to the enemy. My analysts tell me it will shatter American resolve. Perhaps you don’t believe that. But it is a historical fact and rather well known that the Americans loathe losing men. They do not have the stomach for sustained combat that brings death to hundreds of thousands of their own soldiers.”

“That has been true in the past during their foreign adventures into other countries,” Xiao said. “Will that hold true as they defend their homeland?”

“Americans are Americans.”

“Ah, yes,” Xiao said. “That is succinctly put, Leader. Yet if I may be so bold, I would like to tell you about Marshal Kao’s charts. It outlines—”

Jian began shaking his head. “I have seen Kao’s precious charts. I have also witnessed Nung’s continued advance and the tens of thousands of Americans marching into captivity. Perhaps I will even keep some here next to my polar bears.”

Xiao chuckled politely, a false noise like a sitcom’s laugh track.

“The fact is,” Jian said, “that Marshal Nung will soon capture Corona. Ah, you no doubt didn’t believe I followed the situation as carefully as that, but I attend a daily briefing on the battle. Our Nung will bottle the Americans that the giant tanks freed from the Escondido Pocket.”

“And if he fails in that, Leader?”

Jian looked away. He didn’t care for the Police Minister’s insistence in this. “As long as Marshal Nung advances, I will support him. The man has an iron will when it comes to devising ways of outmaneuvering the enemy.”

“Yes, I see. If I may ask one more question, Leader?”

“Speak,” Jian said, letting a hint of annoyance enter his voice.

Xiao hesitated once more before saying, “What if Marshal Nung destroys the sword you’ve given him as he dashes it against a rock-like defense?”

“Hmm…that was well said. Yes, I must consider such a possibility, shouldn’t I? Are you suggesting we halt the offensive?”

“No,” Xiao replied. “But I urge you to give Marshal Kao’s analysis greater weight. Perhaps Nung is correct and the Americans are on the verge of collapse. We have killed and captured the majority of them in Southern California. If he captures the state and if he carves out the entire Western Coast, then he would be a hero of the people. But if he destroys the sword you’ve given him, Leader, he will have become a veritable devil to our great cause.”

Jian thought about that as he watched one of the cubs nursing. Could Kao be right? Nung was such a fighter, a real fire-eater. The man had told the Ruling Committee in advance that his armies would sustain heavy casualties during this battle. Hadn’t the others been listening? This…situation wasn’t a surprise. Well, maybe the broad extent of the losses was rather grim. But China possessed young men in abundance, eager to win marriage permits. Joining the military was one of the quickest ways to do so. There were always more hungry young men to feed the furnace of war.

Jian faced the lip-wetting Xiao. Truly, that was a disgusting habit. “Police Minister, Marshal Nung fights, and China needs a fighter, as North American cannot be conquered any other way. As long as he advances, I will support him. Now, if you will excuse me?”

Xiao bowed at the waist and he bowed deeply. “Thank you for your time, Leader.”

“No, I thank you for your forthrightness, old friend. Now, I bid you a good day.”

Colonel Wilson stood in the top hatch of his Behemoth. The monster clattered and clanked at twenty-five mph. It tore up the freeway, spewing concrete chunks behind the treads.

A few Strykers acted as scouts, roaming ahead on the freeway. Thirteen M1A3 Abrams roared behind the Strykers but ahead of the Behemoths. Behind Wilson’s five experimental tanks followed Bradley Fighting Vehicles. These also carried extra ammo and battery supplies for the Behemoth tanks. Interspaced among the heavier vehicles were Humvee Avengers carrying Blowdart anti-air missiles.

This was a suicide run, a desperation gambit by SoCal Command to halt the Chinese assault toward Corona—at least for a little while. The formation came up from the south toward Riverside, if nothing else, to destroy the Chinese supply line feeding the assault units heading toward Corona.

America needed time to get the soldiers out of Escondido and Temecula. Then command needed time to set the men into strong defensive positions in Greater Los Angeles and rearm them with supplies rushed west through the Sierra Nevada passes.

The Chinese had to know the Behemoths were coming. Wilson was surprised that so far the enemy hadn’t—

He put a hand on his headphone. “Sir,” his comm-officer inside the Behemoth told him. “I have word from SoCal Command. Chinese aircraft are on their way.”

Wilson slid down from the hatch, closing it with a clang. The Avengers were useful, but they weren’t tac-lasers and couldn’t handle a truly concentrated air attack. No. Today, as Captain—as Major Higgins had shown earlier, the Behemoths would have to provide the chief anti-air defense with their amazing electromagnetic cannons.

Wilson strapped himself into his commander’s seat. He was surrounded by screens and knew the Behemoth to be the most advanced tank the world had ever seen. Science fiction novels had predicted tanks like this. His father used to read to him. He remembered the Bolo stories by Keith Laumer. These tanks weren’t sentient like those in the series, but the internal AI gave them yet another edge over the Chinese.

Wilson had listened to Higgins before telling the other officers about the superior Chinese equipment during the Alaskan War. This time, it was different. Yet now they were throwing away these marvelous tanks in a seemingly futile effort.

“Sir,” the comm-officer said. “The Chinese appear to be using drones. And it looks as if they have stand-off bombers behind them.”

Wilson nodded. The American Air Force had taken a terrible beating in the earliest phase of the war. It was unconscionable the U.S. lacked air superiority over its own land. Yet such was the case here. The Chinese, Japanese and Korean factories simply poured out too much materiel. It was the reverse of World War II, where America had swamped the Axis Powers through abundant supplies, materiel and hard fighting by tough soldiers.

“Link the defensive net,” Wilson ordered.

“Yes sir.”

The Behemoths slowed, and the Humvee Avengers circled the big tanks. The engine revved and the huge monster began to shake with power.

Four minutes later, the attack began as Chinese UCAVs roared at treetop level, with their main cannons chugging shells and other drones firing air-to-ground missiles.

The nearest Avengers fired as Blowdart after Blowdart hissed out of the tubes and rocketed at the enemy.

“I’m switching over air command to the AI, sir.”

Wilson rubbed his mouth nervously. It was a strange feeling giving the Behemoth control on the weapon systems. He had never gotten used to that. It made him feel like a mouse inside a steel trap.

“Yes, switch over command,” Wilson said.

The turret swiveled, the cannon adjusted and the SLAM of the shell leaving the gun made the three-hundred ton monster shudder.

Wilson watched on his screens. It was incredible. The drones bored in, chugging shells at them. The Behemoth 30mm cannons fired defensively and the flechette launchers filled the air with clouds of metal.

A heavier air-to-ground missile appeared. It must have come from a standoff bomber. Yes, the drones were a shield for the more dangerous aircraft: how very elementary and yet clever of the enemy. An M1A3 exploded, rocking the seventy-ton vehicle as both sets of treads peeled away. The Bradleys joined the Avengers and fired anti-air missiles.

Wilson clenched his jaws so tightly that the muscles hinging them throbbed with the effort. A drone disintegrated, pieces of it raining like hail. Then three more blew up.

Inside the tank, the turret swiveled fast with its electric motors. The cannon adjusted yet again and the great tank repeatedly shuddered. Like duck hunters gone wild, the five Behemoths blew down the drones. In some cases, they reached out twenty miles and destroyed fleeing bombers.

“Five Abrams are gone,” the comm-officer informed him.

“Keep advancing,” Wilson said. “We’re not going to stop the Chinese if we stand still.”

“Cruise missiles!” the comm-officer shouted.

“It’s all up to the AIs now,” Wilson said, speaking much more calmly than he felt.

The engine revved, thrumming so his bones shook, and Wilson wondered if that had occurred because the AI had willed it so. How long would it take before such tanks dispensed with their human crews and highly advanced artificial intelligences did the job?

Rubbing his sore jaw, Colonel Wilson watched the screens as if they showed the Super Bowl with his favorite team, the quarterback daring to sprint for the end zone, with the opponent’s most brutal safety heading straight at him.

“Hit!” the comm-officer shouted.

On a screen, Wilson watched a cruise missile explode, the fiery parts raining on a grove of nearby peach trees.

Eleven seconds later, Wilson groaned as he watched another Abrams blow up. Farther away, Strykers became burning hulks. The cruise missiles were so damned fast and agile against the Blowdart missiles. Fortunately, the Behemoth’s AI and the electromagnetic cannon were too good for them.

“How many more cruise missiles do they have?” Wilson asked.

The comm-officer was slow in answering. Checking his screens, Wilson couldn’t see that there were any more.

“SoCal Command just called, sir. It sounds as if that’s it for the moment.”

As he hunched over the screens, Wilson blinked furiously. Had they really survived the combined air and cruise missile assault? These tanks were amazing. It was incredible. “How…how are we doing on shells?”

“Our tank is down to forty percent ammo supply, sir.”

“Are the other Behemoths in a similar predicament?”

“I’m sure they are, sir.”

“Then we’re calling a halt, a short one. Some of those Bradleys survived. I want them to load us up to the gills. Then we’re continuing the advance to Riverside. I can’t believe it. These tanks work even better than I’d expected.”

“That’s good for us, sir.”

“Indeed,” Wilson said. “Now let’s get moving.”

Marshal Nung scowled at General Pi. They both stood around the computer table, witnessing the giant tanks shrugging off a combined air-cruise missile attack.

“What are your orders, Marshal,” Pi asked.

“We destroyed most of their attendants,” Nung muttered. He meant the Abrams, Strykers and some of the Bradleys. The giant tanks were beginning to feel invincible to him. How many of those tanks did the Americans have that they could just throw these away in a suicidal fury? Yet was it a suicidal attack? Clearly, the Americans attempted to thwart his advance toward Corona. What was the right move? Should he let the T-66s race ahead, or should he order them to turn south and destroy these five giant tanks.

“Sir?” General Pi asked.

“I dare not let the American soldiers run free into Los Angeles,” Nung said.

“Many have already left Corona, sir, heading for Fullerton, Anaheim and Pomona in the north.”

“I understand that.” Nung frowned for a time before saying, “Los Angeles is a heavily urbanized environment. I had hoped to destroy the American army before having to wade through the great city.”

“Begging your pardon, Marshal?”

“Yes, yes, give me your wisdom.”

“I do not believe we can allow the American tanks to run amok among our supply vehicles. Those tanks—”

Nung hung his head, and he shook it. He hated to give the order. He loathed the idea of turning back. He had never done such a thing in Siberia and during the Alaskan Campaign with the swift run across the Arctic ice…

“They are slow tanks,” Nung said.

“They’re fast enough if we cannot destroy them, sir.”

Nung slammed a fist onto the computer table. “Turn the T-66s. We must destroy these tanks first. Then we will race to Corona.”

“As you command, Marshal,” General Pi said, motioning to the chief communications officer.

Colonel Wilson fingered the microphone as he sat in the commander’s chair inside his Behemoth. He neared Riverside after enduring several air assaults and cruise missile attacks. Most of the accompanying vehicles were burning wrecks. Each of the five Behemoths had survived. They kept heading north toward the main enemy concentration near Riverside.

Several computer screens surrounded Wilson, giving him visuals outside and images from an Air Force recon UAV that sneaked onto the battlefield. The U.S. drone wouldn’t last long, but while he could, Wilson studied the situation from an aerial view.

The Chinese had burst through Riverside. Chinese triple-turreted tanks and IFVs charged toward Corona. Now, some of those T-66s had turned back, likely to engage his Behemoths.

He had to keep buying the U.S. Army time. Most of the troops freed from Escondido carried personal weapons and little else. That meant most of the heavy equipment remained in the pocket. The soldiers didn’t have the weaponry needed to face T-66s, not yet, anyway.

Wilson opened communications with the other four Behemoths. “Men, we’re too slow to run away. Otherwise, I might suggest it now that we have the T-66s turned around.” He closed communications because suddenly his throat was too dry to speak. He tried swallowing several times and finally twisted open one of the bottled waters. He sipped several times.

Let’s try this again.

Clicking on the microphone, he said, “Sorry for the interruption. Men, it has been an honor serving with you. We helped create the greatest tank ever made. We’ve also shown the Chinese a thing or two I’m sure they hadn’t expected. Now, I don’t know about the rest of you, but there is not another, a finer company of men, of soldiers, that I would rather die with.”

There. He’d said it. They were going to die. There was no turning back with these slow monsters. Thus…thus…Wilson took another swallow of water.

“I have an idea, gentlemen. I mean to teach the Chinese a lesson that they will never forget. I mean to show them what Americans can do when they are good and pissed. I’m going to walk among their best tanks and proceed to kick their sorry asses from here to kingdom come. I’m going to use these Behemoths as they were meant to be used, and that is to ram my fist down their collective throats and make them gag.”

Wilson frowned. That sounded like a speech. He had been making those all his life. He couldn’t stop that even here at the gate to death. Well, maybe that was all right. He had been giving speeches and acting like a prick for far too long. Now he could redeem everything by fighting bravely and with deadly force.

“General Larson believed we had to defend Los Angeles by attacking here. Sometimes, gentlemen, life or God, I’m not sure which, hands you a shit job. We have such a job this time. We signed up as soldiers, and that means that sometimes you have to put your body in harm’s way. Well, I love my country. These aggressors are here to steal it out from under me. That means I’m going to fight until I’m dead or until I’ve driven them into the sea. I’m sorry for talking so much. I’m sorry for many things. I suppose I mean to make up for everything rotten I’ve done by laying down my life. ‘Greater love has no man than this: that he lay down his life for his friends.’ That’s from the Bible, gentlemen, the very words of God. We’re going to lay down our lives in the next half-hour. Let’s make sure we do it in such a way that we save our brothers so they can drive the Chinese into the sea.”

Wilson set down the microphone as a strange calm settled over him. He felt like a still lake on a perfect day, the sun a delight on the skin. One by one, his tank commanders called in, agreeing with him.

Afterward, near the city of Riverside, began the death ride of the Behemoths into the heart of the Chinese advance.

It began as long-range howitzers rained down a sheet of steel against them. The Chinese had seen their advance and likely they knew their route. Normally, that should have been enough to set up a perfect ambush. It didn’t work out that way this time. The howitzers attempted to pummel the Behemoths, but most of the shells never made it through the tank defenses. Those that did rained on reinforced armor. The Behemoths, unlike most modern tanks, had put as heavy armor on top as they did in front. It made for an extra-heavy and tall tank, but with this engine, it didn’t matter.

Drone hovers appeared, firing as they raced like greyhounds toward the Behemoths. If they could get close enough, the experimental tanks would be unable to use their defensive fire effectively. Behind the hovers came Marauder light tanks. For several minutes, confusion reigned. The Chinese vehicles and howitzers spewed mass fire against the five American giants.

Wilson winced each time an enemy sabot round made it through the blizzard of defensive fire and hit the tank. Each round clanged like a hammer, ringing in the Colonel’s ears. But none of the lighter cannons had the force to break through the special armor.

In return the five Behemoths reaped a swathing harvest of enemy vehicles. Hovers exploded, flipping over and burning. One flew into the air, spun and landed so the cannon bored into the earth like a drill, until it snapped and the vehicle crashed again, this time onto its side. A light tank burst into flame. A crewmember opened a hatch and tried to escape. The hatch banged onto him, trapping the man. He opened his mouth, screaming surely. His hands covered his face, but the flames melted those and soon the man sagged, dead.

It was grim. It was war, and the Behemoth was a demon in its element of destruction.

“I’m seeing the howitzers, sir, in the long-range scope.”

“Give the AI its head,” Wilson ordered.

The turret swiveled, a targeting laser sighted and the tank shuddered as the cannon spewed a shell. Two miles away, a howitzer blew into separate pieces.

The other howitzers continued banging away, sending their shells in a ballistic trajectory. The Behemoths fired their penetrators in a nearly straight line and many times faster than the enemy munitions.

Chinese infantry began to appear from ditches, doorways and on rooftops. They popped off RPGs. Those had no effect on the Behemoths, but they kept trying. Too many failed to run away in time and died to flechettes shredding them into gory ruin.

A mile and a half later, the first T-66s entered the fray. They were eighteen of the advanced Chinese tanks in the first wave. None survived, although they knocked a tread off a Behemoth.

“What are your orders, sir?” the crippled Behemoth commander asked.

“Tell me this,” Wilson said. “Can you bail out and run back to our lines?”

“We would never make it, sir.”

“I agree.”

“So…”

“So you remain where you are, commander,” Wilson said. “Your cannon has greater reach than any other vehicle on the battlefield does. You’ve just become our artillery support, in a manner of speaking.”

“Yes, Colonel, I understand. Good luck, sir.”

“We do this for America, commander.”

“And for our families, sir.”

“Yes,” Wilson said. “They are the heart of our country.”

Because the first wave of T-66s failed to halt them, the Behemoths advanced. A new American recon drone appeared overhead after a Chinese SAM had destroyed the first one. This UAV provided them targeting coordinates on hundreds of big Chinese supply trunks in the distance.

“Fire at will,” Wilson ordered.

In a matter of three and a half minutes, one hundred and sixteen haulers exploded and began to burn. Very few escaped.

“I’m low on ammunition, Colonel,” one Behemoth commander radioed.

“There’s no help for it now,” Wilson said. “We keep advancing. Choose your targets carefully. If nothing else, you can provide us with protective fire.”

The four Behemoths, three surviving Bradleys and two brave and lucky Humvees reached the outskirts of Riverside. The final battle began with another cruise missile attack, followed by a thousand special infantry, fifty light tanks and two hundred and forty-one T-66s. It was an inferno of destruction, with nearly one hundred percent Chinese losses.

Then the first Behemoth finally died as four T-66 shells made it through the defensive fire and together hammered through the amazingly thick armor.

A new air assault destroyed a second Behemoth, this one to the rear of the formation. That left three experimental tanks, then two and finally Colonel Wilson was alone with his crew among a sea of burning Chinese vehicles.

Wilson viewed the screens. He had never seen a battlefield like this. Over two hundred and twenty triple-turreted tanks burned or lay on their sides, destroyed. The Behemoths had become a plague to the Chinese tanks.

Now three more big enemy tanks clanked into view.

“Sir!” the comm-officer shouted.

The Behemoth turret swiveled. The giant tank shuddered, and they destroyed yet another enemy tank. Then the world ended for Colonel Wilson as the enemy cannons blew past the defensive fire and opened holes in the battered armor. The huge engine exploded. The world turned white and Colonel Wilson became simply the latest Killed in Action in the defense of his homeland.

Three days after the original breakthrough of the Behemoths into the Escondido Pocket, Paul clutched the butterfly controls of a Browning .50 caliber. He shared a foxhole with Romo outside of Poway. Clouds hid the sun. The Chinese were stirring in the rubble of the destroyed city, likely getting ready for yet another attack. To Kavanagh it seemed as if the enemy never slept.

All during the exodus of the trapped Americans through Escondido and I-15, the Chinese had fought their way through Poway, trying to rush the rearguard, to shatter them and collapse the pocket.

Paul’s eyes felt gritty and he yawned. He’d been fighting nonstop for days and he just wanted to sleep. He feared that if he did, he wouldn’t wake up in this world. He’d been thinking a lot about his family lately. He realized now that he would never get to see them again, but at least he had done his part to make sure LA didn’t fall to the Chinese.

“How many did you say again?” he asked Romo.

The assassin sat in the bottom of the foxhole as he clutched extra ammo. He had been to battalion HQ and come back with news.

Romo lifted his chin off his chest. “What did you say?”

“How many of us have made it out of the cauldron so far?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

Paul shrugged, wondering when the Chinese were going to attack. He was bone-tired.

The Chinese had dropped leaflets, showing long lines of American soldiers marching into captivity. The Chinese were busy mopping up the remnants of the once proud Army Group SoCal. Soon, now, everything would hit Los Angeles. First they would first sweep away the rearguard here in Poway and eat up what was left of the Escondido Pocket.

It was just a matter of time before the Chinese juggernaut hit them. The truth, the Americans who had had held out for weeks south of here had given the Chinese something to do. American stubbornness had given the men here time to reach Los Angeles.

The Chinese in Poway...Paul rubbed his eyes. He’d almost fallen asleep. It had been a long trek since Mexico, since the commando assault on the Blue Swan site. Now—

“Brother,” Romo said, shaking his shoulder. “Wake up.”

“Huh?” Paul lifted his head from where it had dropped onto his crossed arms. He’d fallen asleep after all, standing upright in the foxhole. His mouth tasted like old coffee grinds, and he smacked his lips. Then resolve filled him as he remembered where he was. He gripped the Browning and swiveled it—

“Did you hear me?” Romo asked.

“The Chinese aren’t attacking yet,” Paul said, scowling as he studied the enemy. Couldn’t Romo let him get a little shuteye? The lousy assassin—

“Forget about the Chinese,” Romo said. “The Colonel wants us back in Battalion HQ.”

Paul glanced at Romo. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been given orders to go to Battalion HQ. You were asleep when it came.”

“Why are we supposed to go back there?” Paul asked.

“Let’s go see.”

With his index finger, Paul dug grit out of his right eye. He nodded and grunted as he heaved up out of the foxhole. They crawled to a trench and then hurried back toward the rear.

Battalion HQ was a sandbagged position with logs over a very large hole and with lots of dirt over the logs. Back a ways, a small black helicopter waited beside three tough-looking soldiers in body armor.

“Hold it,” an MP said, coming out of the shadows of the HQ.

“We’re supposed to report,” Romo said.

“Who told you that?” the MP asked.

“This is Paul Kavanagh, Gunnery Sergeant Paul Kavanagh of Marine Recon.”

“Oh,” the MP said. “Then you’d better head over there, you lousy bastard,” he told Paul. “Hurry your butt, you lucky S.O.B.”

“What’s going on?” Paul whispered, as Romo pulled him away from the MP, out of the trench and headed for the helo.

The assassin shrugged.

At their approach, the three tough-looking soldiers raised their weapons. By their insignia, they were Green Berets.

“This is Paul Kavanagh,” Romo said.

The meanest-looking of the three squinted at Paul. “You don’t look like much to me.”

Paul just stared at the man. He had a nametag, if you could believe it. It said Donovan.

“All right then,” Donovan said. “Let’s go.”

Paul shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re leaving this shithole,” Donovan said.

Scowling, Paul asked, “Why?”

“He asks why?” Donovan told the other two. One of them shrugged. “I’m guessing you know a General Ochoa,” Donovan told Paul.

“The General Ochoa of SOCOM?” Paul asked.

“That’s right.”

“Okay? Yeah, I know him. What about it?”

“General Ochoa must figure you’re something special,” Donovan said. “Otherwise, he wouldn’t have sent us to fly in and pick you up. You’re going to LA.”

Paul stared at the man.

“Did you hear me?” Donovan asked.

“Yeah,” Paul said. He heard; he just couldn’t believe it. “Come on,” he told Romo. “Let’s board the helicopter.”

“Sorry,” Donovan said, putting a hand up near Romo’s chest. “He’s not coming. I only have orders to take Paul Kavanagh.”

Paul stood as if struck. He began to shake his head.

“Do not be foolish,” Romo told him. “Get out alive while you can.”

“No.”

“Do we have to drag you out?” Donovan asked.

Paul stepped away from the three SOF soldiers and drew his sidearm, aiming it at Donovan. “I’m staying unless you take my blood brother with me.”

“Your what?” Donovan asked.

“You heard me,” Paul said.

Donovan studied Paul and finally backed away. He went to the helicopter and climbed in.

“You are mad,” Romo said. “I would leave you if they offered this to me.”

“No you wouldn’t,” Paul said.

Instead of arguing, Romo looked away.

Donovan jumped down from the helo. He looked bemused as he approached. “Well, well, well, it seems like General Ochoa is in a good mood today. You can bring your little buddy with you. Come on then. Let’s get going while the corridor is still open. It won’t last forever.”

Paul holstered his gun and strode past Donovan and the other two SOF soldiers to climb into the back of the helo. Romo followed. As they buckled in, the three Green Berets entered and the rotors sped up. They lifted, and Paul felt a sense of déjà vu. This was weird. He was going to live and he might even see his wife again, see his son.

The helicopter kept low, a mere fifty feet above the earth. Assist jets kicked in and the little machine zoomed fast, soon flying over Escondido. In minutes, it shot over a long marching column of American soldiers heading for Temecula. They were on I-15, the last open corridor to freedom and Los Angeles.

Paul was glad to leave, but he couldn’t help but think of the soldiers outside of Poway holding the line while others marched away to continue the fight. It wasn’t just. It wasn’t fair. It was war, and she was a mean-faced witch.